


together, we ride

by foreverfadesaway



Category: Blue Lions - Fandom, Byleth - Fandom, FE3H, Felix Hugo Fraldarius - Fandom, Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem Three Houses, Nintendo, Sylvain Jose Gautier - Fandom, Sylvix - Fandom, Three Houses - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Academy, Character Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, M/M, Multi, Religion, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:33:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22439557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverfadesaway/pseuds/foreverfadesaway
Summary: It is Imperial Year 1180, and the students of Garreg Mach's Officers Academy are still in the midst of their academic year. The story revolves around the tumultuous and complicated relationship between Sylvain Jose Gautier, his best friend Felix Hugo Fraldarius, and the rest of the Garreg Mach students. Similar to the events of FE3H with changes to character events and backgrounds. As Sylvain struggles to escape the grasp of his ever-present, ever-dominant father, Felix continues his pursuit of understanding the justification of his brother's death while trying to realize who he is as a warrior...and a son. Although the events of the story will mostly focus around the happenings of the two boys and their growth within the impending civil war, the story will skip to other relationships between students and faculty alike. Around and around and around it goes...where it stops? Nobody knows.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> ♡ _a work in progress! the story may begin to change from chapter to chapter as i allow the story to unfold as it feels it must. the summary is a vague encapsulation of what i intend to accomplish, however, the words may take on a whole world of their own. comments and criticisms are appreciated, and i hope you all enjoy!_ ♡

The night was a bellowing black, almost as if the clouds were hacking the rain out like an insatiable cough. The moon lay tucked behind a mass of fog. There would be no going out tonight.

“You know what’s not fair about the dorms?” Leonie posed, sitting on the edge of her bed, whittling away at a slice of wood. “Nights like this.”

A pair of light brown eyes and braided blue hair looked up at her suddenly, and then immediately back down to her twiddling feet.

“What do you mean? I like the rain. It’s so loud…always drowning everything out,” Marianne answered. Timid as always.

The girl was met with a shake of the head and an exasperated sigh. She felt the silent reprimand from Leonie, feeling as if she’d answered incorrectly, although Leonie believed no such thing.

“No, no. Not the fact that it’s raining. I like the rain, too. I mean—well, okay, it is the rain. But not about whether I like it or not, because I do. It’s the fact that our dorms are outside, and the nobles have all their rooms upstairs. _Inside_ _._ ”

“But…we’re inside now,” Marianne replied, ever so quietly. Her red-haired companion sighed again.

“I mean our actual doors and all that! Everyone upstairs can come and go as they please to visit each other while it downpours like this. If we want to see each other down here, we have to step outside in the gloomy underbelly. We can’t even make it upstairs without having to _sprint_ there, and we’d still be soaked,” Leonie finished, holding her wooden dagger to the light and handing it to Marianne. “I’ve made six of those now. You can have that one.”

Marianne smiled microscopically as she held the dagger. She’d add it to her collection of trinkets and accessories (95% made by Hilda).

“I suppose…when you put it that way. I prefer it down here, though. Having a beautiful storm just outside your room…I think it’s magical. A force of nature knocking to come in,” she answered. Leonie smiled at the sentiment and shrugged.

“Didn’t expect such a spark of optimism from you, Marianne, but I think I’m just underestimating you too much. Still—I would like to go talk to the professor or Lysithea or Petra, I’m not going outside now. I’m not about to be the poster child of unsafe behavior in a storm.”

Not a moment after, a loud knock rattled the room, and the girls gave a startled look to the ceiling. Leonie huffed.

“But then again, how can I complain about a little thunder when I’ve got my own personal natural disaster right above me night after night?” she glared, unrelenting, no need for an explanation. She already knew.

“I’m not playing with you anymore! All this time I could be working on physical training instead of this asinine game of fake tactics. This isn’t even real war scenarios. No soldier only ever moves in the shape of an “L,” Felix announced, standing up erratically, only to send his chair flying to the ground (hence the knock).

The boy across from Felix, the _pretty_ boy with the _pretty_ words, could only laugh and smile at his best friend’s reaction.

“Look, Felix, I know losing to an absolute bird brain like me must be heart wrenching for you, but I promise, you’ll win one day. Just…not today,” Sylvain smiled, his wicked grin a shining star on his pretty face.

“I’m just not as good with tactics as you are. I can see what’s looking me in the eye, but not past that. It’s no use playing against you, I just get angry.”

“Training for you is what this is for me. I’m a mind guy. Although it’d probably be a total waste to have a fit young man in his twenties sit on the sidelines of battle creating strategy tactics instead of being out on the battlefield raring to fight, I still feel as though that’s secretly my true calling. My father would never dare humor that idea though, so I never even let it cross my mind until I got to the monastery,” Sylvain responded, looking at the rough-edged board in front of him. His “second” father, Rodrigue Fraldarius, had gifted the chess set to him so many years ago, he’d forgotten just how long it’d been. The board was a certain prized possession of Sylvain’s.

Felix let out a small _hmph_ , not out of frustration, but of complete understanding. Neither Felix nor Sylvain were like their biological fathers, but rather the very opposite. Rodrigue Fraldarius was compassionate, war-torn but empathetic, and often disgusted with himself and his past. He was soft and vulnerable, and able to make allies and companions so quickly. Felix was a weathered soldier in the body of a teenager. Cynical, tunnel-visioned, and easily upset. The friends he’d had, he’d made in his years of innocent youth. Before his attitude change. These friends had watched Felix transform before their very eyes, and they knew why, so they couldn’t fault him for it. Instead, they held him even closer. Sylvain was one of those friends.

And on the opposite end of the spectrum was Sylvain himself. Untamed and malleable, he had no concept of a focused goal or means to get there. He liked what he liked and hated what he hated—he loved books and flirting, and he hated war. He’d made many more enemies in his homestead than in the battlefield. In this way, he was quite the perfect complement to Felix.

However, Sylvain’s father, Margrave Edward Gautier, was not of a similar nature. He was rough, strict, and unremitting. He held the responsibility of constantly protecting his familial territory from Sreng invaders, and in turn, allowed his heart to turn as cold as the icy winds of a Faerghus winter. The dynamic of both families shifted drastically as both lost their eldest sons—one by cruel choice, and one by cruel fate. Sylvain and Felix were not terribly far apart in age, and their fathers had fought innumerable battles together before they’d even met their wives. The houses of Fraldarius and Gautier went back centuries.

“The only reason you came here was so you wouldn’t be left alone in Faerghus without me, Ingrid, or that beast of a highness. It’s not like you’re here to become the next greatest lord in all of Fódlan,” Felix huffed, crossing his arms. Sylvain shrugged.

“See, now that’s where you’re _wrong_ ,” Sylvain protested, picking up his white knight piece and pointing it towards his friend. “I only came here for _you_.”

The overt gesture caused an instinctive smirk to cross the younger boy’s face before he realized his reaction, and in turn, immediately dropped the expression to the obvious disappointment of Sylvain. A loud crash of thunder outside the dorm walls shook the building and caused Sylvain to jump in his seat ever so slightly. The chess board lay planted.

“Care for another game to pass the time?” the red-haired fiend tapped his piece on the table as he looked up. “I know you’re not leaving in this weather to go anywhere else.”

“I’d rather sit outside and stare at a wall than subject myself to another crucifying loss. I told you. This isn’t my kind of game, and I’m not having fun. Put a blade in your hand, and maybe I’ll stay,” Felix curtly replied, grabbing the handle of the door and yanking it open. Sylvain could only watch in small defeat as his cynical friend retreated from a battle well lost. As he began to clean the rest of the pieces, he glanced outside and watched the rolling landscape of Garreg Mach light up for a few seconds at a time between the intermittent lightning strikes. This place seemed…much scarier at a time like this. His mind began to wander into the darker parts of the monastery.

The Church of Seiros had always been an ever-present component of Faerghus. The religion had become the bedrock of the Kingdom itself. It was…inescapable. Inevitable.

Sylvain didn’t _not_ believe in the goddess, but he definitely was no pristine, devout follower. He wasn’t a Marianne or a Mercedes. He just couldn’t come to put faith in a goddess that seemingly allowed such violent social construct to run rampant. The goddess, as all teachings proclaimed, was to protect Fódlan and act as its guide. So had the goddess—no, not _had_ …would. _Would_ the goddess have exiled Sylvain’s brother as his parents so readily had? Was the active abandonment of one’s first born child a commandment in the Church of Seiros? Had the goddess herself written that command? Just the thought of such a crime only served to make the boy angry, and so he often tried not to think about it at all. Sylvain held a myriad of unresolved issues with the church, his family, and his home in the Kingdom. He was an attractive young man with brains, wealth, nobility, and high step upon the ladder of social hierarchy. Yet, most times, all he ever really wanted in life was an older brother.

A sudden rapping on the door hurled Sylvain from his deep thought and into a standing position.

“Oh, uh, come in,” he called, shaking himself back into reality as he gathered each king, queen, knight, bishop, rook, and pawn into the drawstring bag. A cautious mop of blonde hair entered gingerly.

“Sylvain, it’s late, and I just saw Felix return to his room. I think it’s time you get some rest, too,” Ingrid spoke, her tone pointed and exact. She often acted as a floating conscience of sorts for Sylvain. He nodded and placed the bag on the table.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I just don’t like sleeping in storms. At least not here. I feel like I might be smote while I’m dreaming or something,” he chuckled, placing a casual hand behind his head. “The rain is bad tonight.”

The girl looked confused at his reply.

“But you always loved the thunderstorms when we were younger. You used to grab a candle and chase Dimitri and Felix around trying to scare them until they cried,” she laughed as she spoke the last word, now finding it quite hard to believe that either boy would have such a reaction now. _Maybe Dimitri_. Sylvain matched her laugh quietly, but it was noticeably insincere.

“Crazy, right? How things have changed so much?” Sylvain then asked, his expression stoic and unmoved. His question was entirely rhetorical, and he’d hoped Ingrid would realize such and not answer at all. She read his face—his slightly downturn lips, his clenched jaw, and his glazed stare. Her gaze averted to the stone floor.

“I don’t like the storm either. It reminds me of too many rough nights my family had. Not like I need to explain that to you,” she answered, gaze still glued down, afraid of coming back up. The vulnerability Ingrid showed to Sylvain was not uncommon in their friendship, and so he didn’t bat an eye. He did understand how out of character this was for someone like Ingrid, though, to be so open like that with anyone else. Dimitri never quite had the right words, nor was he ever truly there mentally, and Felix as an option was absolutely impossible. Before Glenn had died…maybe. If Glenn had never died, maybe even now…but no. That wouldn’t change now. Ingrid and Felix’s relationship was rocky and turbulent at best, and with Felix giving little to no effort emotionally at all times, it wasn’t like that relationship would change anytime soon. Sylvain often thought about how life would have been between the four of them had Ingrid married Glenn. How she and Felix would be siblings. He didn’t like that thought, and so he shoved it away.

Sylvain gave his friend a light smile and patted the seat next to him on the bed. As Ingrid accepted the invitation, she sat, her body bent, leaning her elbows on her knees. They boy had draped an arm across her shoulders, and they just sat. For just the right amount of time. Ingrid knew that this here…this boy of little words, deep in thought yet comforting and calm, was his true form. No flowery language in hopes of seduction or submission, no strategic glances or hand touches to advance the mood. Just a scared boy with a reassuring arm holding his friend close. Ingrid liked this Sylvain more than anything else.

“Do you ever think the goddess hates us? For the things we’ve done?” Ingrid finally piped up. Behind them, raindrops splashed on the windows.

“If she does, she’s a little late. I’ve hated her for as long as I’ve known her, I think. Then again, she must have really hated me, too, to have let me grow up like this. Born into this family and this goddess-awful situation on top of that. I think—” he stopped himself short, looking over to see Ingrid upset. She hadn’t been looking for that answer. She hadn’t really been looking for any answer at all, but rather, she had wanted to confess something. Sylvain realized that and closed his mouth. His grip tightened around her back as she whimpered quietly.

“There must be a full moon or something. We’re both so off tonight,” he chimed, allowing her silence. Eventually, she sighed and stood. He dropped his arm to the bed. The storm had seemed to lighten, but not dissolve.

“It’s terribly late now. I won’t get any sleep if I stay up any longer. It’s time you go to bed, too, Sylvain. We have class tomorrow. You know the professor,” she nagged, kiddingly of course. He smiled.

“I wouldn’t mind her smacking some sense into me,” he looked up at her, gauging her reaction. Her playful eyeroll and sudden head turn signaled things had circled back to normal. He was relieved.

“ _Goodnight_ , Sylvain,” she stated, her back facing him. Her head was ever so slightly turned in his direction. She took a step forward. “And…thank you.” With that, Ingrid left, closing the door behind her. Sylvain was sad to see her go, but happy to be alone.


	2. ii.

Sylvain did exactly as Ingrid had warned—he didn’t sleep that night. That is, until about 4 AM. Not too long before it was time to get ready for the day.

A series of knocks, a half-assed “ _Sylvain_ ,” and a sudden explosion from the doorway caused the red head to awaken slightly from his short, yet deep, slumber.

“Sylvain, get up. Come train with me before classes start,” Felix barged in loudly with absolutely no respect for the boy and his sleep at all. Sylvain grunted and promptly threw the covers back over his head.

“I need more sleep, Felix, can’t we train later?” he asked groggily, an obvious note of annoyance tacked onto his words. Felix, not one to mince words or relay sympathy, pulled the blanket from his friend’s head and looked down at him like a stubborn parent.

“I have monastery duties the rest of the day and won’t have time. Besides, you owe me for last night. Come on, I need you,” the blue-haired youth spouted as he tugged on his arm.

The blanket rose and fell with each breath, and Sylvain couldn’t help but think that maybe, just _maybe_ , if he ignored Felix long enough, he would eventually get tired of waiting and just leave find someone else to drag along with him. But it seemed not. Felix stood, transfixed, to the exact same spot. He stared Sylvain down with such a heavy stare, he could feel it even beneath the blanket. Sylvain peeked an eye out and sighed ( _overdramatically_ ).

“Fine, fine. I’ll come train, you cruel harbinger of _death_ ,” Sylvain relented. He threw the covers off and swung his legs to the side. The boys had known each other their entire lives, and that was far before either one of them could even hold onto a memory. They’d slept in the same bed with the same blanket, shared the same tent, worn the same clothes, traded armor, weapons, and even socks. They’d shared meals and drinks, toys, books, and scary stories. They played the same games and even made the same friends. It wasn’t unusual to see Sylvain rolling out of bed, but other times, like _this_ time, it felt… _different_. The red-haired fox (as Felix would sometimes nickname Sylvain in his head) often went to bed with nothing but his boxers, and in this particular moment, Felix felt flush. He looked Sylvain in the eye for a moment before he realized the redness of his cheeks and turned away.

“Hurry up and get dressed, we’re wasting time,” he said suddenly, slithering away from the bed. The attitude change and abrupt outburst caught Sylvain off guard, but he didn’t bother wondering why. He knew Felix was an odd apple. Hopping out of bed, he gathered his clothes, _yawned_ , ruffled his hair, _yawned_ , and slowly put on one pant leg at a time… _yawning_. Felix kept his gaze fixated out the window, his cheeks still lingeringly warm. He would have never guessed there had been such a bad storm the night before—not with how blinding the sunrise was becoming. A quick flick of his eyes showed Sylvain was finally ready, or rather, _publicly decent_. Maybe. Running his fingers through his hair one last time, Sylvain exhaled audibly and dared look Felix straight on.

“Lead the way, Captain!” Sylvain nodded, bowing to his friend and finishing off with a salute and a smile. Felix rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“I’m not sure why I continuously think you’re the best partner I have to train with. I bet Ingrid or the professor would do just as well,” Felix retorted, evident hostility packed into his small stature. Sylvain hardly contained his chuckle.

“I **_also_** don’t know why you continuously think I’m the best partner to train with, but then again, here we are.” The snarky remark beckoned a smile to Felix’s face as he began his walk out the door. Sylvain followed, begrudgingly, but with a similar grin plastered on his face nonetheless. No matter how early it was, or how brutal the mission, Sylvain could never turn down precious time with his best friend. He’d seen what war constantly erased—humanity. Both spiritually and physically. Too many families—mothers, brothers, fathers, aunts, sisters, uncles, grandparents—all of them—had cried in the streets of their villages from news of their loved ones dying. He’d watched friends crumble to their knees like wet paper and scream out to an absent goddess for some small reprieve. War obliterates humanity, and Sylvain couldn’t understand it. All this power, this _stupid_ , worthless, intangible power that people murdered for…at the cost of their souls. Unforgivable.

Shaking himself once again from his rampant thoughts, Sylvain turned to his friend who had been discussing a new technique he was intending to hone.

“…the problem is the amount of resistance I’ll require, which is where you come in. Can you handle that much?” Felix finished, grabbing his sword as they entered the training grounds. Sylvain, not wanting to further irritate the angry kitten, began to nod his head up and down as a sign of feigned compliance.

“Good. I didn’t even think you were listening,” Felix snapped. Sylvain grabbed his lance and nervously groaned.

This early in the morning, Felix and whoever he could wrangle along with him were the only ones awake to be out and about already. Sylvain often likened Felix to that of a grumpy old man. Wakes up at 5 AM and is ready for bed by 7 PM, unless of course there’s a battle to be won. He’d also recently noticed Felix talking to Ferdinand more and more often. Everyone in the monastery knew how adept Ferdinand was with weapons of all kinds, so he often became a source of information to classmates and faculty alike. Felix, the ever-improving swordsman, was probably trying to glean more info from the Imperial boy to keep himself as sharp as possible (and to keep his sword in top shape—he loved that thing more than Bernadetta loved her isolation). He’d notice the pair talking over a meal in the dining hall, or in the corner of a classroom with notes splayed everywhere, completely full of Ferdinand’s scribbles and diagrams. Every so often, Sylvain would go looking for Felix, and he’d find the two deep in conversation. He’d feel his chest become heavy. His smile would drip down to a straight line, and he’d feel his motivation dissipate. Sometimes, he’d have no idea why, and other times, he’d understand perfectly. He’d forget about asking Felix whatever he had originally intended, and would instead turn back around from where he’d came. He didn’t dislike Ferdinand, and he was always delighted when Felix would finally take it upon himself to try and forge new friendships with other students. But when he saw those two together—he buried those feelings beneath a mountain of insecurity.

“Why are you just standing there like a buffoon? You have to stretch before you do anything with that lance or you’ll completely ruin our routine,” Felix remarked, his legs stretching to either side, his arms soon following suit. Sylvain snapped out of his perpetual state of overthinking and began to stretch alongside his friend. He often fell behind when it came to training, battles, or even just hanging out. Sylvain’s mind was ever-wandering, never-resting. He was a brilliant young man with stunted emotions and a cute face. He knew he was smart, but also knew it was not something to display. He understood it was best to keep his enemies in the dark. Never show all your cards in the first round.

“Do you ever wonder what the point of training even is?” the fox posed, knowing very well the answer he’d receive.

“What the hell does _that_ mean?” Felix responded rudely, slowly coming up from his bent position. He stared his friend dead in the eye, unflinching. Sylvain inhaled deep, exhaled, and followed up his thought.

“You know, think about all the stories we grew up with. Loog, Kyphon, and all the other ‘ _insert name here_ ’ knights of valor. They were all known for their natural skill, strength, agility, and tactics, not to mention their nobility and chivalrous hearts. Every story like that paints the hero liked a handpicked super warrior who is destined to win all the time, regardless of their enemy. No seasoned soldier will ever best them, so what’s the point? What’s with all the training? Why should we constantly be putting in all this effort to improve when the inevitable hero of the story is going to show up and steal the show anyway? It’s like— _hmmmm_ , like,” he paused, trying to think of a decent comparison, when suddenly his eyes lit up. He shifted towards Felix. “Catherine! An experienced knight who has trained devotedly and ferociously her entire life to be where she is now. Hundreds of battles conquered as well as weapon mastery and a _hero’s relic_ in her arsenal on top of it. Now say, Catherine is ready and raring to go when **suddenly** ,” he continued, his hands opening wide in front of him to help correctly convey his thoughts, “a girl like the professor shows up and steals all the attention and glory. All that work—all the hours, pain, and utter devotion Catherine put into her life’s work for that _exact_ heroic moment…shattered instantly. Rhea has a new shining star, the professor is being asked to assist on every battle venture, and not long after, we discover she’s the ‘chosen one’ destined to wield the relic of _ye old Fódlan_.”

Felix, not one to actively participate in Sylvain’s constant (and lengthy) opinionated rants, lost track halfway through and just cocked his head.

“Are you saying Catherine isn’t _good enough_?” He asked, half-confused, half-angry. Sylvain smacked an open palm against his forehead and shook his head avidly.

“No! That’s the point! Catherine _is_ good enough. But the fact of the matter is, she spent 20+ years training to be the best knight she can be, only to be trampled on by a demi-god who’s 10 years her junior and came from absolutely _nowhere_. How is that fair? Where’s the justice in that?” Sylvain questioned, his tone erratic and urgent. It had become a much more deep-seated issue than he’d intended.

“If Catherine trained to be the best she could possibly be, then what’s the problem? She’s a knight, training like a knight, winning battles like a knight. What are you getting at, Sylvain?” Felix responded. He was sincere and contemplative this time. Usually he’d brush a conversation away like a bothersome child, but this one piqued his interest.

“But she won’t get the praise she deserves. She’s lost the interest of more half the monastery, and now she’s in the shadow of a stranger who doesn’t even recognize the goddess she’s fighting for. Why go through all this training when we know the chosen one will steal all the thunder and win the battle anyway?” he answered. Stern. Unwavering.

“Because we train for ourselves and for our friends and our families, not for glory and fictional legacies. I don’t care if my name goes down as a child’s nursery rhyme, or that I’m a statue at the gates of Fhirdiad. I’m bettering myself so that the day the ‘chosen one’ never arrives, at least I’m ready. The professor is unbelievably skilled, I have no doubt about that, but if you think she ever stands a chance as a one-man army, you’re deluded. I know this is just you trying to justify not training with me, but that’s by far the stupidest thing you’ve ever uttered, and this is from someone who’s know you your entire life. Part of me even thinks you should go apologize to Catherine for desecrating her good name like that,” he finished, picking up his sword and turning his back to Sylvain.

Taken aback, he could only fall silent as he absorbed the words of his peer. He always got a strange satisfaction when eliciting a response from Felix. The boy was detached and cold, so any liveliness he emitted felt far brighter than from anyone else.

“But don’t you train to be the best? How can you do that knowing the best already exists?” Sylvain asked, genuine, but also in purposeful provocation.

“Until she pries my bloodied sword from my petrified fingers, I’ll never recognize her as the best. Just another obstacle.”

 _There it was_ , Sylvain thought. _The frigid wind of Felix Fraldarius_. He’d gotten frostbite too many times from comments like that.

“ _Now_ who’s the one that needs to apologize? You have to face her in class later,” Sylvain joked, finally picking up his lance. “But fine, you’ve convinced me. I see the merit in training now. Just in case the professor turns against us, I’ll make sure to train so I can protect you on the battlefield, and _you_ can protect me,” he finished, that warm flow bubbling up under his grin again. A scoff from Felix was the only sound that followed.

“And why would I protect a sleazeball like you?” he quickly reacted.

Sylvain dramatically placed his right hand over his heart, patting gently.

“ _Ouch_ , Felix. Talk about a dagger made of words. Who taught you to speak like that?”

“The tragedies of life. **Now** —lift your lance before I turn your wrists into _stumps_.”


	3. ii intermission

Of the Blue Lions house, a majority of the students were decently attentive. Ashe and Annette, eager to succeed and become even the slightest bit more clever than the day before, could be found with quills ferociously scribbling away at blank notebook pages and in every possible margin of every possible book. Whether the notes were worthwhile (Annette…mostly) or simple annotations-turned-cat-doodles (Ashe) is a toss up.

Dimitri cared to learn more than anything else, but he could often be found with a floating gaze, chin resting in hand, resting on elbow, resting on desk. The boy was bright, but stretched far too thin. Too many thoughts for a boy his age. Heavy thoughts for a boy so full of light. When he’d eventually snap back into reality, Dedue was always right next to him, pointing out what sentence of the book they were reading, and showing him his carefully etched notes as he followed along with the lecture.

Ingrid liked to sit next to Mercedes, not only because she smelled nice, but because she didn’t make such a ruckus during class. She didn’t take notes furiously, her quill wiggling constantly in the peripheral of Ingrid’s view, and she didn’t mutter the exact sentence the professor had just said in a quiet voice to herself every other minute (Annette). She sat, a soft smile and even softer eyes, fixated on the professor at the head of the class, simply listening. Ingrid never really knew if Mercedes ever retained anything from the lectures, but she wasn’t going to bring up any points about it now. She just wanted to be able to finish her work in peace.

And, at the back, were the pair of troublemakers. When it came to class, Felix was brash and uninterested. He was loud, spoke out of turn, and often went out of his way to object to his fellow classmates’ commentary. Sylvain attempted to reign in his friend as much as he possibly could (although it never really worked), but the problem was…he actually enjoyed Felix’s boisterous attitude during class. He only felt bad because no one else ( **INGRID** ) liked it much at all. To Sylvain, Felix was participating as Felix always did, but he also knew that kind of behavior wasn’t so conducive to the classroom. As for himself, he always listened happily, whether or not he already knew the subject matter at hand. Sylvain, for a young man, was incredibly smart. During his even younger years, he could often be found in his father’s libraries, either reading about the history of Faerghus and Sreng, or on the proper use of every viable weapon known to mankind up until that point. He had always been partial to the use of an _axe_ , although his father actively ignored such interest and instead forced him to learn the lance. At times when Sylvain felt he already knew the topic at hand, he would write Felix notes of past jokes they’d laughed at together or things they should do while hanging out later. Felix would disengage from the lecture and answer Sylvain’s note back in _terrible_ chicken scratch somewhere on the same piece of paper. The two had ripped up numerous blank pages during each class from scribbling notes back and forth. The unspoken goal of each note was to be the _last_ one to fill the _last_ blank spot with however small of writing they could manage. The two would often get caught laughing as they watched the latter strain to read what the former had just microscopically inscribed…and they _regularly_ got in trouble for it. Since then, they’d learned how to camouflage their little game _much_ better. And, every so often, as he hid the passing of each note from the professor, Felix would _smile_.


	4. iii.

Because the two boys had woken up so early to get a head start, being in class felt more like midday nap time than learning time. Slumped forward in their seats, their necks limp and eyelids drooping, the pair could barely remember a single word during that entire lecture. Byleth took heavy notice, but she’d also seen the two in the training hall on her morning walk. She understood their weariness. However, that did nothing to alter her annoyance. Even _she_ had to admit though—watching Felix lean his head on Sylvain’s shoulder only to pop up hoping nobody had seen was sweet. It even tempted her to smile.

As she dismissed the class Sylvain’s eyes took heed of the moving bodies and shook Felix awake. They gathered their books and attempted a seamless assimilation with the rest of the students as they made their way out of the class to avoid reprimanding, but the two heard the ferocity of their dear professor’s voice calling for Sylvain anyway.

“She’s going to expel me from class. I know it. I’m done. Say goodbye,” the firey-haired boy announced quietly, walking towards her desk.

“You’re being especially over dramatic. It’s not like you to get so worked up over the professor wanting to talk to you. She probably just has a question. Meet me outside when you’re done,” Felix replied. He turned away from his friend and toward the door. Sylvain watched him walk away before making eye contact with Byleth. He began to practice an opening statement in the 20 steps before he’d reach her desk, as if he were about to defend himself in trial. He arrived at her cold wood desk only to start stammering nonsense.

“W-We had—you see Felix wantsted—I mean, _wanted_ to train. I’m, I’m sorry, we didn’t mean—,” he tripped over himself, completely embarrassed. “Don’t kick me out. My friends are here.”

As Byleth’s eyes narrowed in confusion (and an honest attempt not to laugh at his outburst), she shook her head.

“No, don’t worry, Sylvain. I’m not kicking you out for falling asleep. This is something else,” she responded. Her hands folded over themselves as she scanned the boy’s expression. His face had become a pink flush, and it was rare to see him stutter so badly. She wondered why he suddenly seemed so insecure for a moment before forcing herself back to the problem at hand. He watched her eyes run him up and down, and Sylvain in turn became confused himself. He couldn’t help his thoughts from running through a few situations of their own.

_All the girls in the monastery complained and wanted him executed._

_Rhea deemed him unholy and unfit for the academy and announced he’d been banishèd._

_He’d borrowed too many books from the library and access would no longer be granted._

“It’s your father. He sent a messenger to check on your progress since you haven’t been answering him yourself, apparently. Have you been getting your father’s messages?” she asked, curious and naïve.

In the doorway from which Felix had never truly left, he held his breath. Much like himself, Sylvain and his father did not get along. Felix felt his father was too soft and warm…but Sylvain’s was steel and ice. He listened intently.

Before her eyes, she watched Sylvain’s boyish features turn from nervous and bashful to sharp and downturn. His brow furrowed, and his mouth quivered to keep from displaying a frown of distaste. The subtle pink blush of his cheeks turned to angry red.

“Yes, I _have_ , and I’ve answered him **sufficiently** enough. Now he’s bothering you? I can’t believe he’d go this far to be a damn nuisance. He’s just being nosey and overly assertive. He needs to keep his thoughts in Faerghus where they belong.”

Mere feet away, in the shadow of the doorway overhang, Felix swallowed. Sylvain had always been hard to bring down. He was a cheerful guy with an excitable personality and a bright smile. Felix understood why girls were attracted to him, Crest or not. Although he often feigned disinterest or ignorance, Felix knew better. He knew Sylvain had always been lightyears ahead of the rest of the Faerghus squad, regardless of the age difference. He was always analyzing and assessing the next best move. It wasn’t uncommon for Sylvain to listen in on their fathers’ military meetings and offer his own input. He’d avidly listen to his father’s previous confrontations with Sreng invaders to study the enemy’s tactics and develop his own defense strategies. His favorite was stationing his father’s soldiers farther away from the Sreng border and instead deeper into the icy terrain. _Having a seemingly open border invites both hope and confusion_ , he’d said. _Uncertainty breeds caution and anxiety. Allow them to cross the border in fear and surprise them just after they believe they’re safe._ He knew it wasn’t a strategy he’d be able to use more than once, but that was his favorite part. Giving himself the opportunity to conjure even more later down the road. It was his favorite game.

When it came to book smarts, Sylvain seemed beyond compare. It was emotional intelligence he struggled with so dearly. He was smart enough to learn the manipulation of words to ensnare his target, but never truly understood why he wanted to in the first place. He’d broken a lot of hearts that way. And Felix had been there for all of it. Despite all his smarts and his crude understanding of the world, the fox remained outwardly happy. He realized being sad made his _friends_ sad—and he disliked their sadness more than his own.

However. The one thing that _absolutely_ **always** made him upset, without a fleeting doubt, was his own father.

Byleth would soon learn that.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh, Sylvain? I’m sure he’s just worried.”

The boy scoffed and shook his head. He inhaled slowly while trying to keep his posture.

“No, professor, I’m being kind. My father and I don’t get along for a myriad of reasons, but him worrying about me is definitely not one of them. He just wants to make sure I’m following his direct commands and not making an ‘ _absolute_ _jackass’_ of myself, as he says. He didn’t send me here to learn and become a better leader. I enrolled _myself_ to get away from him and be with my friends. Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m ever so slightly older than everyone else? I’d have come to the academy years ago if it’s what my father actually wanted. And since I left of my own volition, he feels betrayed and offended. And I don’t care. I wish he’d just leave me **alone**.”

The sheer multitude of untethered emotion that flowed from Sylvain made Byleth’s body tense and warm up. She’d unintentionally lit this fire. Hands clasped in her lap, she found herself unable to react. Not having a good relationship with her father was a foreign concept. As she realized Sylvain’s true feelings, she recalled all the insults and criticisms Felix had thrown at his own father and began to understand the indelible friendship between the two boys a bit better.

“I’m sure you’ve already noticed, professor, but I barely pay attention in class, and yet I consistently hold the highest grades on all of your exams. I know all this stuff already. That’s not the reason I’m here,” he finished with a huff. He held his stare intently. His shoulders strained and ached.

“I didn’t know, Sylvain, I apologize. It’s just…your father’s messages made it sound like he hadn’t heard from you in months,” she explained, attempting to relax her hands.

“To him, yeah, he probably _does_ think it’s been months. But only because I don’t answer the way he demands I do. He doesn’t like how I talk. He never has. If it’s not on his agenda, he ignores it. He probably thinks I haven’t held a conversation with him since I realized I liked my own thoughts more than his,” he darted his eyes away, frustration evident in his voice. “It’s been like this since I was 7 or 8.”

Although she knew she was only the messenger, Byleth felt wholly responsible for the pain she’d caused her student. Usually Sylvain was so bubbly, cracking jokes and constantly asking her to a (playful) dinner date…which she would decline with a shake of her head and a side smile. He’d nod in understanding and skip off with his friends, his arms draped across their shoulders in protective love. But now she scrunched her nose from the smell of something **rotten** —a festering _wound_.

“Look, professor, I’m not upset with you. That’s not fair. Just tell him my grades and my training schedule, and that’s it. You can even tell him you spoke to me if that’s what it takes. I don’t want him wasting your time like he wastes mine,” Sylvain finished. His voice was low and flustered. Byleth thought it almost sounded like fear.

She nodded and dismissed him, her eyes still watching. 

Walking out in a rush, Sylvain’s eyes scanned the academy courtyard, only to see Felix from his peripheral by the door. He pursed his lips in discontent.

“I’m…hungry. Let’s go into town and—” Felix spat out impatiently and unprompted, his voice hesitant and bashful.

“No, I think we should train some more,” he interjected, much to Felix’s surprise. “And I’m using my axe.”


	5. iv.

Not that it was truly hard to fathom, but Felix was not very good at comforting his friends in times of trouble. Emotionally, he was usually far removed and indifferent. Not so much in that he didn’t care how his friends were feeling (he would always at least acknowledge them), but more so in the sense that he was indifferent to what he could possibly do to alleviate the situation. He’d grown weary of Dimitri’s mental breakdowns over the years and wished he’d use his spine once in a while. Watching the heartsick prince spill his guts and tears all over the floor of his bedroom every few months was ravaging. Never once had he even asked how Felix felt. How he had to receive the news that his reverent older brother had died protecting another’s family. He couldn’t come home to finish the war he and Felix had started in the forest behind their house—even though Felix had reinforced his fort tenfold while Glenn had been away. He knew his enemy was unstoppable, so he had to take advantage of his enemy’s absence. Not long after his father told him what happened, he found himself numbly wandering into his fort and cursing it as teardrops began to fall. He crouched down behind his secured wall of branches and let himself experience the pain as absolutely as it demanded to be felt. Glenn had explained death to Felix while he was still young, as one must when discussing war.

“War is caused by multiple different factions fighting for power over something. It can be between villages or cities, or even territories and countries. Each side gathers together an army and attempts to take control of the most land. In order to win a battle, one side must either surrender because they decide to themselves, or because the other side has forced them to surrender,” Glenn had said. Little Felix cocked his little head to the side.

“How do you _force_ someone to surrender? Dad says **never** surrender!” Little Felix had shouted, his wood sword pointed proudly in the air like a beacon of hope. At this, Glenn had let a chuckle escape his mouth. He had ruffled Little Felix’s hair in response, to which Little Felix groaned and pushed him away.

“By eliminating their army.”

Little Felix scrunched his face and let out his signature _hmph_.

“What…like…making them all go home? Telling them they can’t fight anymore?”

“No, not like that. By killing the most soldiers on the other side.”

Little Felix had heard that word thrown around in his house before. _Kill_. He thought it sounded cool, and he thought it was even _cooler_ after he’d heard his brother say it.

“Dad says that sometimes, I’ve heard him talking to His Highness about it. What does that mean?”

“It means to forcefully end someone else’s life.”

This had positively thrown Little Felix for a loop.

“End? What do you mean end? I don’t get it.”

Glenn took a deep breath and crouched down to make eye contact with his curious younger brother. Their father would most certainly hear about this conversation later as Little Felix was never one to keep his mouth shut after learning something new.

“Every person has a life. They are born as babies, like you— (‘ ** _Hey!_** ’)” Glenn smiled, poking Little Felix’s nose, much to his dismay, “and as they grow older, they die. People get sick or sometimes their body just can’t keep working like they need it to work. When people die, they stop breathing and become lifeless. That means they can’t move or talk or laugh ever again.”

Still watching his brother with an upturned nose after he’d so insultingly called him a _baby_ , Little Felix furrowed his brow in confusion. He couldn’t imagine waking up one day and not being able to move or laugh.

“So…if our mother died…she wouldn’t be able to wake me up and make me supper anymore? What would she do instead? Would I have to take care of her since she couldn’t move anymore? I can’t imagine having to go to her bed every night to get a kiss instead of her coming to _my_ bed.”

Glenn shook his head.

“If our mother died, you wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. We would bury her in a cemetery to keep her body safe and protected. She wouldn’t be able to give you bedtime kisses. Okay?”

Little Felix kept his suspicious expression and crossed his arms. He did not understand.

“So…when someone dies…they aren’t around anymore? No one can talk to them or see them? That’s not fair. They should just stay here with the rest of us!” Little Felix unhappily retorted.

“They can’t, Felix. I know it’s hard to understand, but it happens every day. Nobody lives forever. That’s why we grow older. It happens to everyone.”

“You mean…one day…Sylvain and Dimitri and Ingrid are going to die? And mother and father? And…you?” The sudden shift in Little Felix’s expression was enough for Glenn to beckon the smaller boy into his arms for a hug. He’d become upset.

“Felix, it’s okay. None of us are going to die until we’re much, much older. We’ve barely begun our lives, and we have so much more to do! You, Dimitri, Sylvain, and Ingrid are going to be friends for a very, very, very long time. And I’ll be with you every step of the way showing you how it’s done, okay? Don’t worry. Big brothers don’t just leave their little brothers all by themselves,” Glenn had laughed, twirling the younger boy in his arms so he could give him a noogie. Little Felix began laughing and grabbing onto the older boy’s fist in an attempt to bat him away. Eventually, he relaxed and leaned into Glenn’s chest. He felt the warm fur of his insulated coat and armor and realized how terribly cold he’d been this whole time.

“You promise? Like, super huge **giant** promise?” Little Felix asked, looking up into his brother’s creeping smile.

“I, Glenn Xavier Fraldarius, do hereby super huge giant **promise** to _you_ , Felix Hugo Fraldarius, that I will always be here and will never leave your side. On my honor as a _knight_ ,” Glenn had recited, his evident charm and well-practiced speech dripping in endearment. He held his brother exceptionally close, wanting him to _feel_ the words he’d just spoken—not just hear them.

Little Felix felt his cheeks begin to flush and glow. He felt safe here.

“So…then…what is killing?” He hesitantly asked. The curiosity was still present, after all.

“Let’s save that for another time, huh? I think it’s time to go back inside. Oh—and don’t mention this to mother and father, okay?”

Little Felix shrugged and nodded his head as he brushed off his coat and stared up at his brother.

“I won’t if you can beat me back to the house.”

And without another thought, Little Felix took his little legs and sprinted toward the house without looking back. Glenn huffed under his breath and began to laugh as he watched the other boy barrel ahead with no thought in his mind but sheer victory. Not long after, Glenn found himself unabashedly following his lead.


	6. v.

As their furious training session finally came to a close, Felix looked out the hall archway to see the sun in its final stages of setting. They’d been at it for quite some time, and he’d have been wrong in saying he didn’t feel like falling over from starvation. He’d also shirked all his monastery duties off on Ingrid, who was undoubtedly livid at first, but once he quickly explained what happened after class, she only huffed and nodded in response. Sylvain’s fatherly issues were a mutual understanding between the four core friends. If it wasn’t Felix keeping Sylvain occupied, it would have been either Ingrid, Dimitri, or some random girl respectively.

“Time to get something to eat, don’t you think? Training without energy is just a waste,” Felix exhaled loudly, letting his sword fall to his side. The sweat on his brow dripped down the side of his face, the salt burning his left eye. He reached up to wipe the drop from his cheek and push his hair back. Sylvain pulled his axe to rest on his shoulder. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he finally caught his breath for the first time in hours. The lightheadedness which came from longwinded training sessions meant he didn’t have the energy to overthink for a little while. He barely had enough energy to think of a diligent sentence.

“Ye…yeah. We should stop,” Sylvain huffed out all at once, his body giving in to the fatigue he so deeply felt. He was exhausted from thinking, training, hunger, and anger. It was a lot of work to be so upset.

“I think the dining hall is still in the middle of serving dinner. We should head over now so we still get it ho—” the blue-haired boy spewed, his hand gently cleaning the blade of his sword with its designated cleaning cloth (which Ferdinand had picked out for him specifically).

“Actually, Felix,” Sylvain interjected, placing his axe in its proper place against the wall before fixing his armor. “There’s a girl I’m taking to dinner tonight. In town. I have to go clean up, but you should get to the dining hall before all the good fish is taken. I heard they’ve even got Goddess Messenger tonight.”

 _Of course_. How could Felix have thought Sylvain _wouldn’t_ have something like this lined up to take his mind off his true feelings? Felix **knew** he always did this, and he absolutely hated it.

“Again with another girl? Is she even going to last more than a night?” Felix reacted loudly, giving Sylvain his full attention. “If your bad thoughts are a river, the women you go out with are the stepping stones you use to jump from one side of land to the next.”

A sour expression crossed Sylvain’s face. He understood Felix hated this bad habit he had—this habit of stringing different women along every other night. But what Felix didn’t understand was _romance_. Sylvain was constantly seeking his soul mate, something the blue kitten could never fathom. The only reason he had to jump from one to the other so quickly was because as soon as she would begin talking, he would only hear her mention his Crest and noble standing. He’d then decidedly have his fun and snub her incessantly afterwards. He’d grown a bit of a reputation around Garreg Mach because of it.

“Look, Felix. We’re both tired and you know you don’t want to talk about this right now. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” Sylvain attempted to relieve the situation. He could still feel the intensity of Felix’s perpetual judgement. His misunderstanding.

“I don’t care **what** you do. Just don’t cause any trouble for the professor or anyone else in our class, or I’ll board your bedroom door shut and make you climb out of the window,” he answered. Felix, although never seemingly in a good mood, was always very clearly terrible at hiding when he was in a _bad_ mood.

Sylvain watched, a subtle frown on his face, as his dear friend placed his precious sword on the wall and marched out of the training hall. It was true, more than half the time Sylvain decided to go out with a new girl, some kind of trouble ensued. He’d stay out past his curfew in town, be found sneaking around the monastery grounds past dusk, or the worst of them all, be discovered late at night with a girl in his room due to _noise complaints_. He’d have been kicked out ages ago if it wasn’t for House Gautier’s prominent standing in Faerghus, and the Church’s strong relationship with the Holy Kingdom. He had to do everything in his power to beg Lady Rhea and Seteth _not_ to tell his father, though, which always ended with Sylvain being subject to double the chores in any given month.

He placed the edge of his palm against his temple, hoping to relieve some of the pulsing tension. Shaking his head, he followed suit and left the hall, climbing up to the baths for a much-needed wash. Part of him couldn’t help but feel bad about not going to dinner with Felix, but what did he get so upset about? They’d had dinner together so many times during their lives—what was one or two nights off? It’s not like Sylvain deciding to eat somewhere else was hindering Felix from eating altogether. He could just as easily find half of the other students to eat with, and besides, Felix didn’t even like company during his meals _anyway_.

“Felix is just being a baby,” Sylvain mumbled to himself as he trudged up the dormitory steps. A small ache began to reverberate in his chest.

___________________________________

Elsewhere, Dedue, just on his way back from dinner, noticed Felix bitterly making his way toward the bustling hall. The unseemly expression he held made even Dedue feel the need to ask what was wrong.

“Felix—” Dedue called out after the boy, who to his surprise, paused and turned in his direction. His face did not change one bit, however.

“Yeah? What?” he answered, his arms crossed in pre-resentment, almost.

“I just noticed you looked upset. Last I saw you were in the training hall. Did someone get hurt?” Dedue asked. Always sincere, always genuine. Dedue was a kind soul with no ulterior motives.

“Why are you asking me that?” Felix responded abruptly. “I’m hungry. I don’t have time for this.”

“Sorry for bothering you, Felix,” the silver-haired boy apologized, bowing to his classmate. The gesture softened Felix’s features as he turned away from the other.

“No one was hurt. Goodnight, Dedue,” he answered, his voice now softened as well. He had an odd relationship with the boy. A relationship he could never quite explain, but whenever he thought about it, he always ended up feeling guilty for treating the other boy poorly. Dedue had never done anything to hurt him or anyone else in the Holy Kingdom, and along with Felix’s brother and the rest of the royal family, Dedue had also had his family killed in the Tragedy of Duscur. He followed Dimitri around like a puppy. A large, sad, lonely puppy. He couldn’t stand the sight of either of them, and yet, every time he interacted with Dedue, he felt guilt. He tried avoiding interaction with him altogether because of it.

“…haven’t seen Edelgard in days,” an unidentified voice whispered as soon as Felix entered the brightly lit dining hall. The small group of gossipers gathered at a table close to the front of the room, and it was almost impossible _not_ to hear them. Usually he’d pay no heed to other students in the hall. He usually didn’t need to, because more often than not, Sylvain was already on a mile-long rant about something or other, and so he’d always just listen to him.

Felix got in line for his dinner.

“She hasn’t been in any classes, and I haven’t seen her around her room, either. Someone said she got called back to Enbarr because the Emperor is in bad health,” one of the gossipers whispered. He couldn’t tell what house they were from, but he figured it had to be the Black Eagles. He couldn’t imagine why anyone else would care.

“I heard she’s secretly getting married to keep the Hresvelg name alive,” a second answered.

“Didn’t she used to have a bunch of siblings, or did I imagine that? I remember my mother talking about them all the time when I was younger, but now it’s just Edelgard,” the third replied.

“You mean she’s not just going to marry Hubert?” the first one giggled.

Without conspicuously looking, Felix listened to the group share their atrocious rumors. He believed they were tedious, mostly, because he understood that the most popular rumors were more than likely the furthest from the truth. Discerning truth from lies was _tedious_.

He became too wrapped up in their conversation and stopped moving in line altogether before the chef called out his name. He snapped out of his concentrated state and grabbed his food to sit down at an open end of a table. Watching the candle burn in front of him, he allowed himself to relax into his seat. Speaking of tedious things, Felix also found eating and sleeping to be tedious to his every day life. Having to re-energize himself every few hours and all night was such a waste of _time_ to him. So many wasted hours in a life too short.

As he shoveled forkfuls of lemon fish and white rice into his parched mouth, he noticed his heart rate still beating quite fast. It’s not like he’d just run here or ate so quickly he couldn’t breathe, so why was he still in such a heightened state? He was too tired to figure out why. He just wanted to finish eating so he could get to sleep and start out a new day.

"Felix, _there_ you are!” the boy heard a familiar voice ring. It was Annette. She came to the end of his table with an urgent look on her face.

“Annette. Did you need me for something?” he asked, his voice low and his gaze averted.

“It’s an express messenger. He came looking for Sylvain, but couldn’t find him anywhere. He noticed I was from the Blue Lions and came to me, and then Dedue said he’d just seen you here. Do you know where Sylvain is?” she asked, her eyes asking for help so dearly. Felix closed his eyes and exhaled audibly.

“Last I saw, he went to take a bath. I don’t know where he’s going after that, and I don’t care. Tell the messenger to come back tomorrow,” he answered, his fork already creating the next bite.

“He said it was really important, though, so I want to make sure someone hears it. Can’t you take the message, Felix? You’re his best friend after all, I’m sure he’d trust you,” she replied, clasping her hands together. _Ah yes_ , he thought. _His best friend_. If it was an express messenger, Felix knew it had to be from his father. And considering the day they’d had from the other messenger his father had sent for him, he realized maybe it wasn’t the best idea to make him relive it a second time.

“…fine,” he finally responded, apprehensive and annoyed. He dropped his fork and followed Annette out to the dark courtyard. As they approached the messenger, he bowed upon sight of Felix.

“Your Grace,” he began, recognizing Felix as the son of Duke Fraldarius. Arms crossed, Felix stayed silent. “Urgent news approach from House Gautier’s territory.”

“Speak your news,” Felix finally answered. It wasn’t uncommon for Margrave Gautier to disguise punishments and lectures as emergencies.

“Sreng soldiers have not only crossed the Kingdom territory line, but they’ve made it deep into Gautier territory. Their army has nearly doubled in size, and half of the soldiers are unrecognizable. They’ve destroyed numerous villages already and have kidnapped dozens of children. Margrave Gautier sends for his son immediately to help alleviate the situation as soon as possible,” the messenger relayed, quickly ending his speech with another bow. Sreng had _never_ gotten so deep into Faerghus territory that they were able to destroy villages before. Felix’s attention heightened as he accepted the information.

“Understood. Does my father know about the situation?” he asked, ready to grab his own sword if need be.

“Duke Fraldarius is aware of the situation and has already supplied Margrave Gautier with soldiers and supplies as well as taking over any necessary commands in Fhirdiad. As soon as you find Sylvain, please send him back to his territory. Thank you, your Grace,” the messenger finished, bowing one last time before running to his horse and sprinting off. Annette’s face was one of horror as she looked at Felix.

“I don't like this,” Felix swallowed.


	7. vi.

“Annette, I need you to do something for me,” Felix spat out quickly, almost slurring his words together completely. Annette _at least_ understood her name had been spoken and turned to the boy beside her with an attentive stance.

“Sure, Felix! What is it? Get the knights? Run around asking for help?” she rapidly listed, a mix of overexcitement and anxiety. Felix, ever-easily irritated, closed his eyes and took a deep breath as to not throw too harsh of words at the girl. She noticed his unpleasant expression and swallowed. “Oh no, that’s not what you meant! You want me to run around _screaming_ for help, right?”

“Not quite. I need you to find Dimitri, the professor, and Seteth to tell them what the messenger just told me. They’ll need to know what’s going on and why Sylvain and I will be gone while this mess is being dealt with,” he answered, crossing his arms again as they made eye contact. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“You’re going, too? But he said only Sylvain was requested. What if something happens to you?” she replied. She seemed upset. Felix scoffed in absolute amusement.

“I can’t believe you haven’t realized this by now, but Sylvain is utterly unreliable and irritably untrained. You couldn’t trust him with an indestructible axe and impenetrable armor against a group of newly recruited amateurs,” the boy said, shaking his head and turning away.

“An axe? Doesn’t he use a lance?” Annette questioned curiously, her thoughts unable to stay focused on the emergency in front of them. Felix’s eyes darted from her and back to the sprawling dark scenery before them.

“He fights better with an axe. This is beside the point,” the blue-haired boy announced a bit too loudly, signaling to Annette the change in subject. She quieted down.

“You find everyone else, and I’ll go get Sylvain. I know where he is,” he sighed. Unhappy as he was still that Sylvain was about to be off mingling with yet another unknown girl, this wasn’t the time to let critically personal feelings become an obstacle to the livelihood of their Houses. And—above all else—this was another opportunity to get some proper fighting in. Something Felix was rarely afforded at the academy.

Annette saluted him and ran off into the darkness, seamlessly snapping a ball of fire into her hand to act as a lantern. Felix cocked his head as he watched her do it, looked down at his own gloved, magicless hand, thought _really_ hard about some fire, and snapped his fingers. But _ah_ , to no avail.

“I’ll have to learn that,” he whispered to himself. Picking up his feet, he started off towards Sylvain’s dorm.

Not far from where Felix had just obtained the urgent message, Sylvain was walking back from the baths soaking wet and covered in a towel. He pushed his hair back in one slick motion, the excess water dripping just behind his ears and onto his collarbone. The students weren’t supposed to be walking around so immodestly, especially in a co-ed environment, but Sylvain was never one for closely following authority or rules of any kind. Besides, if they weren’t going to kick him out for the other unspeakable acts they’d already caught him committing, what was some revealing skin going to do? And he didn’t like dressing up in the baths while he was still wet and steamy. Made his clothes stick all weird, and he hated that. Opening his door, he quietly slipped in. On his bed he’d already laid out the clothes he was going to wear that night. His mother had a strong affinity for sewing and fashion, and the Gautier bloodline had a long history of very elaborate (and often gaudy) garments and armor. Because of this, he was never left without something to wear. And, as much as Sylvain _sometimes_ secretly desired to be the center of attention, even still, most of the attire he’d been sent with was a bit over the top for his taste. Bright red and teal button-up coats with silken pants and undershirts. Absolutely nothing like anyone else wore around there, and with his painful track record, he wasn’t about to draw anymore attention to himself than he already naturally did. However, of all the garbs he’d brought with him, there was a certain crimson and black shirt and pant set that not only covered him in the dark quite well, but brought out his ‘ _stunning handsomeness_ ’ as he so often quoted about himself. He’d found it years back while he was much younger and searching around his family’s estate unattended. There was a hidden trunk of clothes tucked away in a guest bedroom’s corner, buried under flush pillows and blankets meant for extra company. In the trunk, the young boy found piles and piles of darkened, intricately sewn shirts, pants, coats, armor plates, gloves, shoes, and capes. As per Gautier tradition, all those bore with a crest were, for lack of a better word, meant to be _branded_ as such. The bright red, blue, and orange shades, along with the embroidered Gautier crest symbol on each piece of clothing, was the standard for the House. It was as much an invitation as it was a warning to others— _know who I am, and fear me_. However, those bore without a crest were presented with the opposite. Dark colors and no embroidery. Even within the familial line, there was always a separation. _Would always be_ , Sylvain feared. As he took the dark garments from the trunk and held them up to see, he noticed they were far too large for him at the time. Maybe they’d be something he could wear in the future. He disliked the flashy wardrobes his mother and father often adorned and always thought they looked so out of place next to His Highness, King Lambert, and Lord Rodrigue, who both wore muted blues and whites. He snuck most of the hidden clothes out of the trunk and into his room.

Now fully clothed and running a towel roughly over his damp hair, he heard a knock at the door. Both surprised and afraid, the fox gingerly cracked a sliver to peek out, only to be met with Felix himself. In a swift motion, he opened the door all the way and sighed.

“What are you doing here, Felix? Look, I’m sorry for skipping out on you, but I made these plans yesterday and—” Sylvain began to speak, but was cut off quickly when Felix realized what conversation he was trying to start.

“Quit talking, I’m not here about something so trivial. An express messenger came looking for you and couldn’t find you, so I took the message in your stead. Sreng forces have infiltrated Gautier territory and are destroying villages and kidnapping children. Apparently they’ve more than doubled their forces with some mystery army. My father has sent reinforcements, but who knows if they’ll be able to uphold the line. We have to go back to Faerghus immediately,” he finished. Sylvain’s eyes grew wide as he processed the information. _Sreng had…gotten past his father’s army?_ His calculating eyes met Felix’s and paused.

“No, that can’t be right. My father’s army has been able to defend the Faerghus border for as long as I can remember. Sreng forces haven’t crossed that deep into Gautier territory since 887,” the boy responded, absolutely dumbfounded.

“It doesn’t matter what you remember right now. The fact is, your territory is being attacked, and you need to go back and defend it. Your father sent for you directly, and I’m going back, too, so take that ridiculous outfit off, get your armor, and let’s go,” Felix demanded. Sylvain’s eyebrows furrowed together. _He thinks it’s ridiculous?_

“Are we sure this isn’t just a trap my father is setting? You know it’s not out of the ordinary for him to send emergency news just so he can punish me in person. What are the odds that the professor talks to me about not answering him _and_ getting an express messenger directly from him in the same day?” the red-haired boy stated. Felix knew that was a possibility. He’d be lying to himself if he said he also didn’t think the circumstances were a bit too coincidental.

“I know, I know, but can you really afford to take that chance right now? Just call that thing you have off with that random girl and get dressed. I’ll go ready the horses and get supplies,” Felix answered, trying his best to usher Sylvain out the door as quickly as possible. If he let him sit and think too much, he’d overwork his brain and end up sedentary and useless. A small lightbulb brightened in Sylvain’s head, and he glared at his friend.

“You just don’t want me to go out with another girl, is that it? Is that why you’re suddenly banging on my door trying to avert my attention? Are you _jealous?_ ” Sylvain laughed on the last word, almost confounding himself. He couldn’t tell if he actually believed the words he was saying, but what he did know was that he wanted a reaction. And he knew the quickest way to a reaction from Felix was a blind, wild accusation. If it was true, he knew Felix would call the bluff and quit the charade. But, if he was wrong—

“You’re truly the most intolerable person I know. You _really_ do think everything is about you,” Felix spewed angrily, his muscles tensing from the unwarranted allegation. “I don’t have time for this, and I can’t be asked to try and convince an emotionally inept imbecile of such a serious situation.” _Him? Jealous?_ He couldn’t even fathom the concept. Felix was met with an insincere chuckle on the other side of the door.

“ _Me_? You’re calling _me_ an emotionally inept imbecile? Vicious words from someone who doesn’t smile and hides all his feelings deep inside a small little shell so he seems all rough and tough. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone less emotionally intelligent than yourself,” Sylvain spit back, his tone coated with a distinct venomous veneer. The blue-haired boy could feel the bubbling begin in his chest. The hot pressure in his forehead. The fury in his gut.

“That’s enough! I came here to tell you your territory is being burned alive, and you don’t care at all. As I suspected of someone who only cares for himself. Do what you want, but don’t you dare come crying to me when you’re pulled out of the academy because your father’s army was no match, and suddenly northern Faerghus is a wasteland. I’ll help you defend what’s already built, but I won’t help rebuild something you burned down yourself.”

And with that, Felix turned and stomped down the hallway and into his room. He gathered his armor, a few more supplies, and trudged back down the dorm stairs to the stable. If Sylvain wasn’t going to help, then damn him. Damn him to hell.


End file.
